


Barre

by MistoffLikeKristoff



Series: The Object of My Affection [3]
Category: Cats (2019), Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Ballet, Blow Jobs, Breaking and Entering, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistoffLikeKristoff/pseuds/MistoffLikeKristoff
Summary: Munk returns to his old ballet studio for some practice.His first night back is only somewhat productive.
Relationships: Mr. Mistoffelees/Munkustrap
Series: The Object of My Affection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623436
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	Barre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowhite_dahlia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowhite_dahlia/gifts).



> More Human-AU if you want it to be, Coffeeshop-AU if you want it to be, whatever you want it to be as long as it sparks a little joy?

The skies had opened up and the spring rain was a deluge. Munkustrap internally chastised himself for forgetting an umbrella as he maneuvered from one portico to the next. The dance studio was still two blocks away and he was already drenched.

This was not a bad omen, he assured himself.

He pondered his options, decided none were particularly great-- and took off at a jog towards the brick building, sidestepping gathering puddles. He really didn’t want to keep Alonzo waiting, since he’d been so kind as to keep the doors unlocked for him.

Alonzo was standing at the gate, mirth evident in his smile as he waved down Munk, other arm cradling a fluffy white towel. “How on earth did you get stranded in this?” Alonzo laughed as he threw the towel at Munk’s head, a gentle rebuke. Munk caught it and immediately pressed his face into it, a bit embarrassed despite himself.

“Thank you,” Munkustrap’s voice was muffled through the soft cotton. He felt Alonzo’s firm hands tussling his hair, dislodging water droplets. “I, uh, clearly wasn’t expecting this.”

Alonzo laughed again and ushered Munk inside. “Hey, at least you’re already warmed up? Have some water, relax, I’m not in a hurry.”

The antique marble floors of the foyer led to perfectly polished hardwoods in the dance spaces. The studio held a series of offices and smaller salons, surrounding a large mirrored rehearsal space in the center. Skylights normally kept the room bright, but the storm clouds cast the room in dim grey until Alonzo switched on the overheads. The percussion of rain on the glass was a consistent din, echoing in the empty room. No students were left this late in the afternoon; Alonzo had invited him to practice privately, away from the curious stares of other dancers-- or more intolerable, their pity. 

Munkustrap was a confident dancer, but a ballet career is always spent eluding injury. A constant low hum of worry, analyzing every sore joint or change in muscle tension. Then two years ago, a knee injury upended his life. The cartilage repair had been considered a success, but it was months before he felt capable again. The miseries of his personal life at the time didn’t help, with healing or with his weak attempts at optimism. Alonzo took over his performance roles-- it was “temporary” but the intimation was clear. Munk focused his time on the cafe, worked too many hours because it kept his mind off how every turn felt strained, every landing felt askew. Still, he longed to get back to form; it was a dull ache. Trusting his body again was daunting.

Munk peeled off his outer layers, setting them on a chair, mindful to avoid leaving a puddle. Alonzo sat down at the upright piano in the corner, plucked out a few chords, keeping things light. “It’s nice to see you here.” A few more bright notes, followed by a pause. “I mean, you’ve been _here_ but not, you know, on the floor.”

Feeling already limber after his rainy jog, Munk moved into his stretching routine without preamble. “Please don’t feel obligated to stay, Alonzo, it’s already kind enough that you let me sneak in here.”

“Anything for you, boss,” Alonzo winked, playing a gentle melody. “I’ve seen your apartment, you don’t have room to move.”

That was true. Munk had tried to teach Mistoffelees some basic ballroom steps in their sitting area-- he ended up with a bruised shin and a dance partner even more skittish than when they’d begun.

Munkustrap settled at the barre, moving through a series of plies and tendus, focusing his breathing, his extension, tuned to the strike of Alonzo’s fingers on the keys. He concentrated on his reflection, mindful of form, adjusting minutely and repeating when he was dissatisfied, repeating when he felt confident. 

Forty minutes in and the damp from the rain had been replaced by a sheen of sweat. Alonzo stood and crossed the floor, extending a water bottle towards Munk who took it gratefully. “You look good,” Alonzo said, eyes serious. “You can do this.”

Munkustrap hid his discomposure by taking three long draws off the bottle. Relying on this kind of support made him uncomfortable. He should probably downplay everything, he decided. “You’re very kind, Alonzo, but obviously I’ve still got a long way to go, and it’s far too early to--”

“Stop,” Alonzo interrupted fiercely, leaning close to Munk’s face, not letting him hide. “Whatever happens, I’m proud of you.”

The sound of an umbrella clattering to the marble floor of the foyer startled them from the moment. “Dammit,” a gentle curse echoed towards them.

Munkustrap immediately recognized the voice. “Mistoffelees?” Misto’s head peeked in from the hall, expression sheepish.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt--”

Alonzo stalked towards him with more aggression than was strictly necessary. “I’m sure I locked the door, how did you get in?”

Misto cowered a bit, clutching a paper bag in his arms. “I’m a magician? I’m good with my hands,” and he wiggled the fingers of his free hand as if to demonstrate the point. Then cringed at his own response.

Munkustrap was charmed, of course. “Mistoffelees, why are you here?”

“When I got home, I saw your umbrella! And as long as I was bringing it to you, I thought I’d get some takeout for dinner-- but when I got here, I could hear the piano music and I didn’t want to bother you so I just picked the lock.”

Alonzo rolled his eyes, laughing softly, relaxed now that the “danger” had passed. “You two are _a lot_ , you know that?” He gave Mistoffelees a friendly shoulder bump, and plucked a container of red curry from the top of Misto’s bag. “This is my fee, thank you very much. Munk, lock up after you’re done, okay?”

Mistoffelees looked from Alonzo to Munk and back again, visibly wincing. “I didn’t mean to break things up--!”

Alonzo smirked, pulling his hoodie up over his head. “I’ve got Crossfit tonight anyway. Don’t work too hard, you two,” he said with another wink as he headed out the front door.

Munk heard Alonzo tug on the door from the outside, door jolting against the lock for confirmation. He smiled at that-- his always careful Alonzo.

Mistoffelees toed his sneakers off and walked across the smooth floor towards Munk, handing him the bag so he could shoulder off his rain jacket. He hadn’t changed clothing after his cafe shift, still wearing jeans and a black polo. Misto must have been really concerned, Munk thought, and felt a bit flushed.

“I’m really sorry, I was trying to be quiet.”

Munkustrap peeked in the bag and was hit with the scent of chili and cumin. Maybe he _was_ hungry. “It’s fine, Mistoffelees, I was… getting in my head about all this, anyway.”

“That sounds like you,” Misto smiled a little, checking his hair in one of the mirrored walls before sitting down on the floor. “How is it going?”

Munk paused, not sure of how to answer. His body felt strong but this was just the very basics. It would be the leaps, the lifts, that would eventually put him to the test-- it was very hard to quantify a first step.

He must have been silent for a bit too long because Mistoffelees stammered, “I-it’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to!”

Munkustrap sat down next to him, stretching out his legs. “Today was good.” He made deliberate eye contact with Misto. “It is sweet of you to ask.”

Mistoffelees’ blush lit up his cheeks, travelling down his face, disappearing underneath his collar. Munk felt a strong urge to chase that blush. Misto stared at his hands, and asked “U-um, did you want to eat, or--?”

“Well,” Munkustrap pulled himself up to a standing position, offering his hand to Misto with a bow, “I really ought to cool down before declaring today’s session complete. Care to dance with me?”

Mistoffelees took his hand, a little shyly, stocking feet sliding on the floor as he was pulled upright. “I’m really not any good at this, still,” he muttered, but placed the correct hand on Munk’s shoulder and set his posture. Munk smiled.

They spun around the studio, maintaining a modest pace difficult without music. Munk hummed a bit to help keep them moving in sync. He could tell that Mistoffelees had gotten a bit more confident, even if his grip on Munk’s hand was very tight. “You’re doing great,” Munk assured him, “and you can watch yourself in the mirror if it helps.” This seemed to have the opposite effect he’d hoped for and Misto’s shoulders tensed. Misto met his eyes, then turned away, and he felt another wince go through his body. “Is this okay?”

Misto nodded silently, chewing a little on his bottom lip.

Munkustrap could still feel stress, right down to his furrowed brow. His eyes seemed to be flitting about a lot. “Relax, take a deep breath,” Munk whispered tenderly into Misto’s ear, “just let me lead.”

Mistoffelees gave a full-body shiver and clung closer to Munk. “You can’t just _say_ things like that,” he groaned softly, burying his face in the fabric of Munk’s tank. “It’s not fair.”

Munkustrap stopped his forward movement and encircled Misto in his arms, laughing. “Sorry, sorry, this is supposed to be fun!”

Misto pulled away, licked his lips reflexively. “I just… I don’t think I tell you enough. How beautiful you are. And-- and how much I like watching you dance.”

The pulse thrumming in Munk’s ears began to drown out the steady rain on the roof.

"May I kiss you?" Munkustrap asked, because it seemed right.

Misto flushed, eyes darting. "This is your ballet studio, wouldn't that be… defiling it?"

Munk fought back the urge to laugh. Misto was so cute. "Good point, no one has kissed in here before."

Mistoffelees narrowed his eyes. "Okay, well, the mirrors freak me out. I don't like watching myself do… stuff."

"May I kiss you?" Repeated, same serious tone, perhaps slightly breathier. He needed the invitation.

Misto huffed, "Of course," and closed the distance between them.

The kiss was tender, warm-- Munkustrap inhaled the scent of rain, and Mistoffelees. Arousal sparked bright in his core.

Misto’s hands came up to frame Munk’s face, pull him deeper into the kiss, and his heart skipped. Munk ran his thumb along Misto’s bottom lip as they separated, appreciating the softness, the moisture gathering there. Munk kissed him again, long moments stretching, lost in the sensation.

When they finally broke, Misto’s eyes were hooded, and he looked unsteady. Munk pushed him back against the barre for support, a startled sound escaping from Misto’s lips at the unexpected contact against his lower back. 

Munkustrap took Misto’s right hand and placed it on the barre, followed by his left, wrapping his fingers around the cool wood and squeezing gently. “Munk, what are you--” Misto began before Munk placed a single finger against his lips.

“Hold onto the barre,” Munk instructed softly, feeling foolish and confident all at once. He pressed his lips against Mistoffelees’ neck, placing gentle kisses, inhaling his scent, fuel to the fire.

“M-Munk, this is,” Misto groaned, arms bent backwards over the barre, but dutifully gripping tightly, “this is _embarrassing_ \--”

Munk slid his hands under Mistoffelees’ shirt, heated skin on skin, rucking it up to stroke the muscles of his abdomen, teasing nipples to tautness. Misto moaned at the touch and his breath quickened, pale skin flushed. Munk leaned in for a thorough, demanding kiss.

“Munk… Munk, take me home,” Mistoffelees moaned into the kiss, arching his back with more desperation than elegance.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Fingers at Mistoffelees waistband, unfastening the button, skimming over bare stomach that fluttered in response-- he thought himself a bit out of character, but Munk was enjoying the chance to indulge. Face buried at Misto's throat, he could feel the pulse quickening. 

A hand against the back of his neck, pulling him closer, meant that Mistoffelees wasn't following instructions. Munk tutted and gently removed the hand, replaced it on the barre. "Stay where I put you," he admonished with a wink. 

Mistoffelees flushed scarlet, exposed chest heaving, hands clutching tightly. His hips bucked involuntarily. Munkustrap felt a heady rush of desire--no amount of contact could ever be enough. He slid to his knees in front of Mistoffelees, whose hands obediently gripped the barre, knuckles turning white. 

Sliding his thumbs below the waistband, Munk tugged Mistoffelees' jeans down just far enough for access. A moan tore from Misto's throat as Munk stroked his penis through his underwear, friction sweet. Misto was already so hard-- Munk took pity and pushed the underwear out of the way, kissing a line up the erect shaft, licking the head.

"You look incredible like this," Munk whispered as he slowly pumped Misto's erection, lips and hands devoted to reducing Mistoffelees to a quivering mess. His breath ghosted over the straining cock, teasing, earning a series of intoxicating whimpers and sobs.

“Please,” Mistoffelees moaned, “Munk, please… I think I’m going to die--”

Munkustrap rewarded the sweet sounds with parted lips, drawing in the head of Mistoffelees’ cock, tongue massaging the slit. He let Misto thrust as instinct demanded, let him bury himself deeper into Munk’s mouth, applying gentle pressure with hollowed cheeks. Misto looked exquisite, flushed red, eyes screwed shut, lips kissed raw, dutiful hands still holding the barre. Munk was sure he’d never seen anything so perfect, so delectable.

“Munk,” Misto’s aching groans became a warning, his hips becoming erratic, frantic. He met Munkustrap’s eyes, hooded, glazed with lust. Munk continued to stroke with lips and tongue, watching Misto fall apart as he came, shallow thrusts flooding his mouth. 

Mistoffelees’ knees gave out and he collapsed forward onto Munk, who carefully lowered them both to the wood floor. The sound of the rain was beginning to ebb, punctuated by Misto’s gasping breaths. Munkustrap wrapped his arms around Misto, feeling his racing heartbeat begin to calm. He placed a gentle kiss on Misto’s forehead; Misto nuzzled down into the crook of his shoulder.

They lay in comfortable silence. Mistoffelees, still blushing, met Munk’s eyes with his own. “Um,” he whispered, “that was nice.”

Munk chuckled. Quite the compliment.

Misto worried at his bottom lip. “Do, do you want-- do you want me to--”

Still relishing his turn of audacious behavior, Munkustrap recoiled in mock horror. “Sex? In the ballet studio? How could you even think such a thing?”

Misto’s eyes welled up, clearly not in a headspace to take a joke at the moment. Munk pulled them both upright, immediately dropping the act and feeling a twinge of guilt.

“Oh my god, no, Misto, it’s okay-- I’m teasing. I promise. What about the takeout you brought?”

Mistoffelees elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s cold by now.”

“So, let’s go home and heat it up.” 

Mistoffelees nodded, and planted a sweet chaste kiss on the corner of Munk’s mouth. “Let’s go.”

The rain had mostly let up, but the streets were abandoned as everyone had already taken shelter. 

They shared a single umbrella on the long walk home.


End file.
